Did You Hear The One About The Dark Lord ?
by Cannae be Kenobi
Summary: Ron proves his comedic mettle to a sceptical Fred. Completely AU silliness. Rated for very mild language.


DISCLAIMER - Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, etc. All recognisable characters, settings, etc. belong to J K Rowling, etc. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from their use in this fanfiction.

A nod to Jokes at db for one of their jokes, which I altered (slightly).

**Did You Hear The One About The Dark Lord ..?**

Ronald Weasley stretched an arm across the Gryffindor table to snatch the last of the chicken legs from the silver tray. But before he could snag the desired food, another hand grabbed it from beneath him.

"Oy, that was mine!" he protested, scowling at Fred.

"If you're not fast your last, Ronniekins," chuckled the elder twin as he waved it tantalisingly before his freckled face.

"But I'm starving!"

"I don't see why," remarked Hermione with an arch of her eyebrow. "You've already had three helpings."

"Yeah, well I'm still growing, aren't I?" he grumbled, still glaring at his brother. "Come on, Fred - give it here."

Fred swapped an amused look with his twin. "What do you think, Forge. Should I let him have it?"

George grinned. "That depends." His eyes swept speculatively over their younger sibling. "How badly do you want it, Ron?"

Ron picked a roast potato off his plate and chucked it across the table.

"Oy, watch it!" cried Neville, dodging the gravy-soaked missile as it went badly astray and slapped against the wall behind him and the twins.

"You see, this is why Harry is on the Quidditch team and you're not," said Fred conversationally, as he casually observed the now mashed potato slithering down the wall. "Your aim is rubbish."

Feeling more annoyed than ever, Ron clenched his teeth and hissed a response. "Just give me the ruddy chicken leg before I fade away, will you?"

"Oh, he wants it badly, all right, Gred," chuckled George. "Let's give him a chance to earn it, shall we?"

Fred nodded. "What do you have in mind, brother mine?"

"How about a joke? If Ronniekins can make us laugh, the chicken's his. If not, it's yours."

"If all you want is a good laugh, just take a look in a mirror. Or at each other - the effect'll be the same."

Harry and Hermione sniggered into their pumpkin juice. Fred and George wore dramatically wounded expressions on their identical faces.

"Not funny, Ron," warned Fred with a waggling finger. He brought the chicken to his nose and inhaled deeply. "Another crack like that and this yummy, golden, tasty treat is mine; get it?"

Ron's scowl deepened, and he seriously considered telling Fred to shove the now, probably bogey-filled, poultry leg up his left nostril; until it occurred to him that he could just siphon the nose-goo off with a handy _Tergeo_ charm.

With that heartening thought, he regrouped to consider their offer. Finally, he thought he had a joke that might win him his prize.

"All right then, gits. I've got a joke for you: why did the Dark Lord cross the road?"

"The _Dark Lord_?" scoffed George. "What, are you a Death Eater now?"

More sniggers from Harry and Hermione. Ron threw them a dark look, wishing they would either support him, or choke on their juice and die.

"No, I'm not. But 'Dark Lord' flows better with the joke than 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'; so are you gonna let me finish it or what?" he challenged.

Fred consented with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Go on then. Why did the Dark Lord cross the road?"

Ron grinned. "To get to the other sidekick!" He ignored the groans of his friends as he chuckled and stood to make another grab for his chicken. But a disgusted Fred stuck it behind his back.

"That, Ronald Weasley, was dire. I'm ashamed to call you my brother. Try again."

"Come off it - that was funny!" he protested.

"Only to you, Ron," said Hermione with a shake of her bushy head. "To everyone else it was just woeful."

"Oh, thanks for the support, Hermione. Nothing like being able to count on a friend in times of need."

She snorted disdainfully. "Losing your house to a freak hurricane off the coast of Dover is the sort of thing that qualifies as a 'time of need', Ronald. Or - worse - discovering you've only managed a 'T' on all your O.W.L.s." Hermione shuddered violently. "But having to forfeit one chicken drumstick to your own brother when you've _already had three _is not! Get some perspective, for goodness' sakes!"

The rumbling in his stomach was all the perspective Ron needed.

"Once again, thanks for the input, Professor Granger. But I don't have a house off the coast of Dover, and I've already got a back-up plan for when I fail all my exams. So right now, my greatest need is the added protein that chicken's gonna give me."

"Well you better up the quality of your jokes, Ron," said Harry, trying desperately to stifle a smile, "because if that's the best you can do, then the only bit of that chicken you'll see is the leftovers. Half-chewed bone - yummy!"

"Who says I'll even leave him that?" quipped Fred cheekily. He winked at his brother. "Come on then, Ronniekins. Let see what else you've got up that grotty sleeve of yours."

Ron wracked his brain for a minute, then smiled. "Okay then: What's the Dark Lord's favourite song?"

"_I'm Just Wild About Harry_?" guessed Hermione rather flippantly. Every pure-blood within earshot looked at her askance, but the Muggle-borns and some of the half-bloods squealed with laughter.

"No, Professor. _Take My Breath Away_," said Ron, falling into a scowl when his punch line got no response at all. "It's Seamus's parents' song."

"We get the gist, Ron," yawned George theatrically. "It's a Muggle song no-one's ever heard of. Bo-ring."

"But Hermione's stupid punch line was Muggle, too, and she got a laugh!" he protested, shooting her a jealous glance.

"Yes, but Hermione's was both in context _and_ her delivery was better," said Fred. The bushy-haired Gryffindor girl beamed at him in pleasure, making Ron want to vomit.

More irritated than ever, he eyed the chicken leg, wondering if it was really worth all the bother. Fred caught the look and tapped it with his wand, so that the aroma of the roasted meat was enhanced. It filtered up Ron's nose and circled his heart like a flirtatious fifth-year on Valentine's day, and his mouth began to water in anticipation of its savoury goodness. He watched it hungrily, longing to sink his teeth into it. Without taking his eyes from the golden leg, he tried another joke.

"What do you get if you cross a Death Eater with an elephant?"

"An enormously fat, grey baby with a bigger nose than Snape's?" enquired George. "If that's possible."

Ron ignored him. "A sick-o-phant."

"Rubbish," said Fred, pretending to lick the chicken. "Try again."

His younger brother growled. "How many Dark Lords does it take to change a light bulb?"

"Oh, this should be good," exclaimed Hermione, looking fascinated. "We don't know. How many Dark Lords does it take to change a light bulb?"

"None. Filthy Muggle technology! _Reducto!_"

Harry threw back his head and guffawed heartily; even Hermione couldn't stop a snigger.

"Again," said Fred, straight-faced.

"Oh, come on. Even I got that one," said Neville, whose shoulders were shaking.

"Again," repeated Fred with a wicked grin.

Ron wanted to grab the chicken leg and smack him on the head with it. And he might still do that, once he won the stupid thing. And he _would_ win it! It was a matter of pride more than anything else now.

"What's the difference between a Slytherin and a ghost?"

"Run out of Dark Lord jokes, have you?" asked George in amusement, but it was Fred who countered Ron's joke.

"Nothing. They're both spineless and transparent."

"Oh that's hardly fair," said Hermione. "Where's your school spirit?"

"Shut up, Professor," chanted both boys, caught in a stare-off.

"What would you buy a Dark Lord for his birthday?"

"A headstone."

"How do you make the Dark Lord angry?"

"Tell him he's got the perfect face for radio."

"What does the Dark Lord eat for breakfast?"

"Scornflakes."

Ron was growing increasingly annoyed with each successful retort from Fred. Not once in the last minute had either twin cracked a smile, and he was beginning to feel desperate. But he wasn't a Weasley for nothing: he'd win that ruddy chicken leg if it was the last thing he did …

And so he tried again.

"So I was getting onto my broom, and the Dark Lord said to me 'Can you give me a lift?' I said 'Sure, you look great, the world's your oyster, go for it'."

Neville fell off his chair laughing and, encouragingly for Ron, Fred's mouth quirked; but neither he nor his twin expressed their mirth as openly as the younger Gryffindor next to George.

Heartened nonetheless by his small success, Ron soldiered on.

"Top Ten Things You're Unlikely to Hear the Dark Lord Say: 1. I love Muggles. 2. Sorry. 3. Harry Potter for Minister of Magic! 4. Dumbledore scares me shitless. 5. I surrender. 6. Equality for Muggle-borns! 7. I want my Mummy. 8. Of course I forgive you, Lucius. 9. Albus, old friend! Fancy a pint? 10. Is that your wand in your robes, or are you just happy to see me?"

Snorts and chortles erupted around him and Ron grinned as Fred and George unsuccessfully fought to cover their smiles. But they _still_ hadn't laughed outright.

"One more might do it, Ronniekins," prompted Fred with a wave of the rapidly cooling chicken.

Ron almost sagged in relief. He was running out of jokes, and if this last one didn't crack the twins up, he could kiss his chicken - and his pride - goodbye. He threw Fred and George a feigned cheerful smile.

"I walked into Madam Malkin's the other day and who did I meet but the Dark Lord. He was getting measured for a new robe. He asked me 'Does my bum look big in this?' I said 'No, it looks fine. It's the arse on your shoulders you should be worried about'."

To his enormous delight, Fred and George finally joined the rest of his Gryffindor friends in raucous cries of mirth. They guffawed so much, and so hard, that Ron thought he might have to dive over the table and save his hard-won chicken leg from the floor before Fred fell off his seat with it. It was a full five minutes before Fred, wiping tears of laughter from his face, dropped the chicken leg back onto the silver tray.

"You win, Ronniekins," he gasped.

"Funniest thing I've heard since Mum farted on the Ministry elevator last year," grinned George.

Feeling enormously pleased, and more than a little proud of himself, Ron smacked his lips and reached out to grab the tasty golden prize. But just as Fred finally pushed the silver tray towards him, it vanished back to the kitchen, taking his delicious chicken leg with it.

And this time, Fred _did _fall off his seat laughing.


End file.
